


Trust

by internetname



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:16:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/internetname/pseuds/internetname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a PWP I wrote because...Well, I don't really know.  I was thinking about the nature of trust...and harem pants.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> I've clicked the non-con button just in case of triggers. No rape occurs, but we're dealing with issues of consent and stuff. This Picard and Q having nothing to do with my Bond P/Q or any other permutation. They're just one more universe in an infinite number of P/Q's out there. I wrote this years ago as Varoneeka, but my old site disappeared, so I'm putting my stuff up here where the party is instead.

  
"Cluck, cluck, cluck, Number One."

Riker didn't smile. "I'm not convinced I should allow this, sir." 

"Computer, halt turbolift." 

The two men turned slightly towards each other, both thinking they had believed themselves past this particular argument. 

"The area isn't a demilitarized zone, Will." 

"The Lenarians have shown before they're not concerned with your safety. I'm not letting you walk in there without protection." 

"Any show of weakness will --" 

"It's not weakness to have guards, sir. The other delegates will." 

"The other delegates are offering the Lenarians a furtherance to their conflict. If I'm going to offer something different, I need to look like I'm offering something different." 

Riker stood a little straighter, though it was obvious he was not enjoying his own words. "I cannot allow you to do this, sir." 

Picard could have withstood the posture and steely tone, but the hint of pain in his first officer's reluctant eyes was too much. "Will, these people have been at war for decades." 

"And so the very concept of peace is unfamiliar to them, and they've said many times that the Federation is weak and vulnerable. I'm sure they'd love a chance to prove that." 

"Will --" 

"Sir, I'm sorry, but --" 

"Two guards. And they'd better not be too physically threatening." 

"At least let me assign Crewman Havot." 

Picard looked ready to object, met Riker's eye, closed his mouth, nodded. 

"Computer, resume lift. And thank you, sir." 

Picard grunted slightly, and Riker hid his smile. 

In Transporter Room Three, the two men entered to find two security personnel, one of them Crewman Havot, the other Ensign Tagovisky, waiting patiently by the pad. Picard shot Riker a look, then nodded to security and stepped up on the pad. 

"Mind the store for me while I'm gone, Commander." 

"We'll expect your first report in two hours, sir." 

Picard stifled an impatient gesture. "Energize." 

As the lights of the transporter began to appear in the away team's bodies, Riker made sure to establish eye-contact with both guards, letting them know what would happen to them if anything untoward even approached the captain. 

Six hours later, when the Enterprise's transporters were finally able to retrieve the guards, Havot and Tagovisky both told Riker as they were being treated in Sickbay that eye-contact with him was the last thing they remembered. 

  
The room had not been designed with subtlety in mind. Nor was there any need to be acquainted with Lenarian culture. This particular color and texture display could be found on any humanoid world, and Picard was certain this particular room had been created with exaggeration in mind. 

Red and purple dominated the room, though there was quite a lot of gold and silver about as well. Satin and velvet were the two main materials, along with thin gauze and heavy brocade. Personally, Picard thought the large gold tassels and piles of plush red pillows would have made things clear enough without the burning oil lamps and the extremely large bed, to which he was chained at the right ankle. 

But, just in case Picard wasn't paying attention, his uniform had been replaced. The two light strips of transparent pink and blue material at his waist draped very lightly over his buttocks, and only slightly more substantially in front. Light silver chains were gathered to hang over his hips, and bands adorned with hanging jewels had been clamped around his ankles and wrists. Some jester had painted the nails on both his hands and feet, and, after his first look around the room had included staring into the mirror on the ceiling, he had a suspicion he was wearing some sort of makeup he hadn't been able to rub off with his hands. Dimly, he was surprised he wasn't sporting a jewel in his navel. 

_I look ridiculous,_ he thought again, shifting in protest. It had been hours now that he had been sitting on this bed, ignoring the chain which attached him to it by keeping his back straight and his hands in his lap. He was no more willing to recline against the pile of pillows behind him as he was to jump up and do the Dance of the Seven Veils. For one thing, he wasn't wearing that many veils. 

He had no belief he was actually to be used for the purpose his clothes or the room's decor suggested. He supposed he was going to be humiliated, however, and doubtlessly tortured, until -- what? Until whoever was responsible had proven a Human could be broken through humiliation and torture. It was all so pointless. 

Sheer boredom had led him to test the chain many times, even though the first attempt had proven that the metal was not to be broken by his strength. So when the door opened, Picard did not try the chain further, but prepared to face his visitor quietly. 

He had plenty of time to prepare. The opened door produced nothing more than a slight breeze for a full minute. When a tousled head did emerge, it was only a meter from the floor, and then was followed by the undeveloped humanoid body of a young boy. By degrees, the child emerged until he was standing with one hand on the latch, his large, dark red eyes staring at Picard. 

The child was dressed exactly like the captain, though he seemed quite unconscious of his attire. Jean-Luc felt his heart sink at the thought of what this boy's life must be like in this place, even though his training reminded him not to judge other cultures by his own. The child's slight trembling encouraged him to believe the worst, however, and he tried to make his expression kind. 

It must have worked somewhat, for the boy left the door to take several steps forward across the lush lavender pile of the carpet. 

"Yakiot ne agredibed ish?" Picard heard the child say, his universal translator lost with his uniform. In answer, he gestured slightly, his hands out-spread. The child responded by edging up to him and holding out his hand. Picard held out his open palm, and something small and cool was dropped into it. 

Then the child was gone, closing the door quickly but quietly behind him. Picard watched his retreat with compassionate eyes, and almost as an afterthought looked down to the object in his palm. The little tube had markings on it he couldn't read, but once he got the flip-top open he recognized the sweet-smelling lubricant, and its doubtless purpose. 

Perhaps half a day passed after that, and eventually he made himself lie across the bed, his arms crossed loosely before him, his face to the door. 

Riker pounded his fist on the desk, then did it again and shouted a few curses in Klingon. Then he called the Lenarian liaison officer once again. 

Her tired face on his viewscreen regarded him crossly. She wasn't Starfleet, but a privately consulted diplomat. Obviously, she felt she wasn't being paid enough money for the hours she was being made to keep. 

"We haven't heard a thing, Commander," she reported. "Whoever's got him isn't ready to tell us yet." 

"What will make them ready? If they're looking for ransom --" 

"I think that's hardly likely, Commander. It's more probably that they're going to use him to make a point of some sort." 

"A point? What point?" 

"I'm sure I don't know, but when I hear anything that gives me any idea, I will, of course, let you know." And then she disconnected. 

Riker pounded the desk again and thought about breaking something, like a few Lenarian bones. 

Picard was awake when the door opened again, though he made sure his breathing did not change as the very tall Lenarian man walked into the room. His skin was the dark red of his people's upper-classes, but he too was dressed in the veils and jeweled silver chains which chimed slightly as he walked. 

"Yep apoorish?" the man said, putting an end to Picard's automatic attempt to play possom. "Dechet ib ad abordnmul." 

Picard sat up and faced him, and was surprised to see that this man's expression was not dissimilar to the child's. There was the same nervousness, the same furtive quality, as though he were being watched. 

Which wasn't unlikely, Picard thought. There was an extremely large mirror on the ceiling and another on the wall to his left. He might have managed to avoid looking in them for more than a second so far, but he could not deny being highly conscious of them. 

The man, unsurprised that Picard was not responding to his words, continued to speak in his language as he cautiously approached. 

"I can't understand you," Picard said, "nor do you seem to expect it. But can you understand me?" 

The man blinked, then smiled, as though reassured, and walked the rest of the way to the bed, bent down as though to say something softly, and put his hand on Picard's thigh. Jean-Luc pushed him away, and encountered rock. The Lenarian's strength seemed not to notice his efforts in the slightest, and in a moment Picard was on his back with his hands held over his head by one of the Lenarian's hands. One of his legs was held down by the now-taut chain and the other was trapped under the Lenarian's leg. The restraints of a biobed couldn't have held him more securely. 

The Lenarian's free hand had moved up his thigh now, gently enough, as Picard asked him to release him and tried despite the futility of it to move away. When the man's warm hand reached Picard's crotch, the captain simply grit his teeth and tried to pretend it was a medical exam, keeping his eyes closed so he wouldn't see himself in the mirror. The touch was somewhat expert, but impersonal, and several moments of the warm touch through the thin gauze over his penis still hadn't produced any effect when the hand was withdrawn. 

Picard opened his eyes, prepared for the Lenarian's anger, but the gaze he met was overtly worried. The dark black eyes went to the mirror on the wall, and Picard wondered if the man were going to be punished for not exciting him. 

"Whatever it is that you want, I can't help you if you don't talk with me," Picard told the mirror, turning his head but looking at it at an angle so he wouldn't have to see himself. The glimpse he got anyway of his painted and be-draped self spread out under the Lenarian's hands was quite sufficient. "This game cannot further any cause of your people." 

There was no response to his words, and the Lenarian shifted on the bed before applying himself to Picard's groin with his mouth. It was a bit more difficult not to plead with him to stop, but again Picard closed his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. After a time, this new unwanted stimulation ended, and the Lenarian let him go. Suppressing the urge to scramble, Picard sat up and would have spoken softly, tried to make some sort of connection, but the man left the bed and made a strange sort of click-cluck noise with his mouth. The Lenarians looked quite Human, except for their skin color and the incredibly silky nature of their hair, so the noise took the captain by surprise. 

Before he could respond at all, however, the man had left. Alone, except for whoever was behind the mirror, Picard grabbed at the satin sheet and tried to wipe off some of the moisture at his crotch. It didn't help much. He shifted slightly, then gave up and resumed his sitting position, hands in his lap, waiting. 

Had the Lenarian been looking at him with pity? 

Before Picard could decide either way, another Lenarian entered. She had none of the furtive quality of the man or the boy, she was dressed in simple black clothes, and she did not approach him cautiously. With a Klingon phaser in her hand, she stepped over to the bed, stopped well short of the length of his chain, and raised a small gun with her other hand. 

"If you people will only tell me -- Ooomph!" 

She had shot him with some sort of pellet that dissolved roughly into his skin. Even as he opened his mouth to protest, everything began to get a little fuzzy. Warmth spilled through him deliciously, and he could not keep his balance, falling back on the soft bed with a moan. The warmth was increasing, burning him in a manner that was invasive, destructive, and incredibly erotic. 

His skin tingled, his brain shut down higher functions as though he had had too much to drink, and his blood began to rush until it pounded from his chest to his fingers and toes and roared as an ocean in his ears. He knew it was a drug. He could feel the falseness of it overtaking him. 

It didn't matter. He was instantly aroused, straining against the damp, light material between his legs while he tried to turn on his side. Hands caught him and the ornamental bracelets at his wrists were suddenly turned into manacles. His arms and left leg were chained to the corners of the bed just as his right had already been. The hands moved to his waist and loosened the cloth, and sheer instinct made him move against those hands. They were removed, however, and then there was nothing but the warm air. 

Picard opened his eyes and felt a rush of hideous embarrassment at the sight of himself, spread out and chained, dressed up like some child's idea of what a genie in a lamp might look like, with his flushed erection stiff and moving with his own frenetic heartbeat. He closed his eyes and tried to regain some measure of control. 

A soft chuckle drew his eyes open again, and he looked to his right to find that the Lenarian who had shot him was enjoying herself. Her amused eyes looked over his taut body, then met his own clouded gaze. 

"That's much better, my little captain," she crooned, her dark red skin shining in the soft glow of the room. She reached slowly for his erection, her mocking smile letting him know how helpless he looked. With everything he had left, he strained his body away from her touch and shook his head. 

Surprised and displeased, she stood up straight, eyes narrow. "You'll regret that," she hissed, before she turned and walked out of his line of sight. 

He almost begged her to come back, then finally got the better of his breathing. Now that he had had a moment to adjust, this wasn't so overwhelming after all. He was deeply aroused, and the artificial quality of it was fading, but he had been aroused before in his life. It was simply a matter of staying as relaxed as he could. In time, the effects of the drug would doubtlessly pass. 

He tried to figure out what profit any of this could bring the Lenarians. Why kidnap a Starfleet officer and humiliate him in this fashion? So he could be drugged into a state of sexual arousal, so what? 

Oh, dear. The sensation was becoming more acute with time instead of less, precum was seeping down the side of his cock, and he was beginning to move from trembling into shuddering. He wondered if, left this way, he might simply die from the same sort of body trauma that came with exposure to deep cold. He could certainly feel no greater craving for warmth if he were left naked on a glacier. 

And yet as cold as he was he was sweating. He could feel it along the lightly prickling hair of his body, gathering behind his knees and under his shoulder blades. He could smell his own skin, sweeter than normal, scented by the drug. 

The wanting in his body had become pain now. Everything ached, everything needed, everything cried out and longed and would have died or killed for release. His entire body had become attuned to his heartbeat, and with each pulse the pressure in his cock seemed to rise. Stretched out this way, there was no manner in which he could touch himself, no way to bring the release he sought. He wondered vaguely if the drug had also provided some sort of suppressant for that release, as he should have been able to come without external stimulation. He didn't know. He couldn't think it through. There was nothing but need. 

Perhaps an hour after she had shot him with the pellet, the woman returned. Picard did not hear her come in, and was dimly aware of her presence for some time before he focused upon her amused eyes. 

"Feeling more cooperative?" she asked. 

Picard wanted to beg her to touch him. He opened his mouth to do it. He drew breath. 

"This is...pointless," he said instead. 

Her hand arched down in a vicious slap that's rapport echoed through his whole body, increasing the pain. He screamed, and for a half-instant the longing dimmed, bringing a strange sort of respite. But then as soon as the pain dwindled to merely to a stinging sensation on his cheek, desire burned him all the stronger. 

"Please," he whispered. 

Her thin lips turned into a cruel smile. "Please what?" 

"Please tell me what...you want. I...came here to...negotiate..." 

She slapped him again, and the pain allowed him so great a relief from the desire that he shuddered and wondered if the drug were wearing off. But then she was gone, and when again the pain dulled he knew the worst was ahead of him. 

Another hour passed, and she did not return. He began to feel completely alone, abandoned, perhaps even left to die. 

It was not a fancy of melodrama to feel concern for his life, Picard thought in whatever was left of his dispassionate mind. This was not desire he felt any longer; no aphrodisiac beat through his veins. He had visions of his cock swelling to the point that his skin split and the cum and blood leaked from each crack. He saw his testicles rupturing, his body shaking itself into pieces, his mind shutting down forever. 

Sometime later he knew he had broken, knew he would do anything for release. He also knew he would not find it. Sex now would not cure him. The precum from his cock had long since dried around the base. The drug had to be removed or countermanded, or he would be dead or insane. 

He turned his head at one point and felt tears slosh inside his ears, filled with the torrent from his eyes. His voice had grown hoarse long ago with his groans. His skin was chafed from his involuntary straining against the manacles. 

And then, somewhere in what he thought of as the night, he found himself staring into the mirror above him. His swollen, inflamed eyes could see the chalky tone of his skin, against which his red erection seemed a harbinger of the death he was beginning to welcome for the release it would bring. He seemed shrunken, used up by the effort of being hard so long. 

And then the light caught at the tip of his cock, and Jean-Luc realized it was fresh precum. The drug had ebbed to the point where it again produced not only suffering but desire. And yet this desire was unlike any other. His defenses were all gone. A rapist could take him and he would know pleasure. 

Pleasure...was he wrong in thinking that his cock felt more...normal? Could he make himself come? Could there be an end to this? 

He closed his tear-salt-encrusted eyes and called up an image, any image which might provide the sort of stimulation which would release him. 

And he saw Q's long body bent over between his legs, gently fucking him, and he came. 

  
Much later, when he woke up, he was hard again, aching with it. It took many minutes to realize where he was, to remember what had happened to him, to understand why he couldn't bring his hands -- which he could no longer feel -- down to his erection and relieve the pressure there. He was only vaguely aware that there had been any pause in this absurd but undeniably effective torture. He knew if someone came to him now and offered him release he would plead with them. He wondered if someone behind the mirror were recording him now, making a permanent display of the way he rocked on the bed, trying to bring his cock in contact with anything that would stimulate it, thrusting his hips into the empty air, rolling his eyes shut and trying to repeat what he had done before, unable to recall what magic thought had allowed him release. 

What had he thought? Had he imagined Beverly taking him in her sweetly curved mouth? Vash with her legs wrapped around him, demanding that he ride her hard and fast? Kamala opening for him like a rose and surrounding him with warmth? Jenice pressed up against him, whispering that she loved him? Phillipa ripping off his uniform and throwing him on the bed? Eight women from Risa going down on his Horga'hn? Q touching his -- 

Picard jerked on the bed, stung by both lust and horror. No, he couldn't think of Q that way! He forced the image to be gone, as he had before when this happened, occasionally, but the craving of his every nerve ending drew it back to the forefront of his mind. Oh, but his cock was pulsing in response to each detail of the scene: Q touching his cock with his mouth, with his hands. Q bent over, hips arched back, opening for him. At the thought of sliding inside him, Picard felt a pulse of precum emerge from his tip and glide along his underside. He was so close. 

Could he perhaps simply think of a man? Was that what he wanted? Vainly, he thought of Okana and his boyish charm, of Jack the way he'd once caught his eye during a mission to Caldik Prime, of Riker, even, in pure desperation. 

No good. Pleasure was receding and pain was taking its place. Surrendering, he thought of Q's ass slamming against his hips while he drove inside him, thought of that insinuating voice calling his name, thought of grasping his cock -- something told him Q would be large -- and came. 

When he woke up this time he was hard again, but less maddeningly so. That changed when he refused to allow himself to think of Q again. It wasn't long before his body, cruelly exhausted, demanded release. And so he thought of Q pushing his legs back and thrusting inside him and came. 

And later he thought of Q on his back, arching up while his dark brown eyes pleaded for him, then on his stomach, on his knees, against a wall, over a desk. He heard Q screaming, "Fuck me, Jean-Luc!" so often it seemed finally that he had heard it somewhere. The fantasy took on the detail of a memory, the dream became all he had, and over and over it gave him release, until at last he was able to fall so deeply asleep that the last of the drug wore off, and when he woke up, severely dehydrated, perhaps dying, he found that he was not hard any more. He also realized that except for the chain around his right ankle, he was no longer restrained. 

It somehow felt like morning, and as he sat up, dizzy and panting with the need for water, there was something obscenely normal in the sight of the tray by his bedside. Almost dropping and spilling the food and water, he slowly consumed everything he had been given before falling back to the bed to sleep again. 

"Jusrit ackil abuodnret." 

His eyes worked better now, Picard found as he opened them to see the large Lenarian male who had come in before, so long ago now. Had it been weeks? 

"Jusrit ackil abuodnret," he repeated, then motioned with his hands. Picard realized he was supposed to stand up. He looked down at his ankle. The chain had been removed. 

Slowly, his every last muscle on fire with lactic acid, Jean-Luc sat up. The Lenarian took him under the arms and helped him to his feet, then looped one arm under his shoulders and helped him walk out the door, down a short hallway, and then into a large room mostly taken over by a vast sunken tub. Only at the sight of that clean water did he realize how filthy his body was. Layers of dried semen had trapped all manner of lint from the sheets and pillows. His face crackled with the residue of his tears, and the dried sweat over his skin had formed a shiny patina. 

Trembling along his legs and arms, he was lowered by the Lenarian's strong arms into the warm bath. Gently, his skin was lathered and scrubbed, while the man's strong fingers rubbed away some of the worst of his aches. Picard did little besides lean against the side of the tub and sigh at the ebbing of pain. 

He did start somewhat when he saw the woman walk into the room, though he quickly got his pained muscles to relax again. She was not the woman with the drug gun. She was dressed in veils and tiny chains, though she deftly discarded them into a pile before moving into the water at the other side of the bath. Picard saw the shine of sweat and semen on her as she moved into the clear warm pool, as well as the marks of rough handling, bruises and scratches all over her body. She did not seem to notice him or his bath attendant, and her movements were efficient and impersonal, lathering up her skin, scrubbing it, rinsing, and then simply rising from the water and walking towards a pile of towels. She selected one, rubbed it over her body, and then over her short wet hair. Then she gathered her chains and veils and walked out, the towel around her hair, her body neither on display nor presented as humiliation. Nudity was her uniform. 

She lives here. Whatever I'm doing here, this place functions as a community, a slave community. Picard found the thought less horrific than terribly sad. That woman, the man washing him, they were slaves, born and bred. 

The Lenarian reached for him then, hoisting him from the water. Picard watched as the tall man leaned back for leverage, then grabbed his keeper's ankle and pulled hard. Their combined weight sent the man crashing to the tile floor. He groaned, dazed, as Picard ignored the sharp pain of his half-twisted leg and scrambled out of the water. A well-placed blow to the head rendered him unconscious, and then Picard ran to the towels, needing something more than his own skin to see him through this, before running out of the room. 

The corridors were a maze at first, but soon he realized they were arranged along central paths with cross-corridors which fanned out like the spines of a palm leaf. Keeping to the shadows, he was able to map out the various rooms, and found a series of dressing, bathing, bed, and communal chambers. In one dressing room he found a large red cloak of the type which (he eventually determined) were worn by the attendants. It did not cover his head, but by keeping the cloak over his body and his eyes to the floor whenever anyone passed, he made out well enough. 

The alarm over his escape was eventually raised, but by then he had made his way though the complex to the functional rooms which supported the luxurious slaves' quarters, including the laundry and the storage rooms, where he did indeed find his uniform locked under a security screen it took him twenty minutes to deactivate. 

  
"Commander," Data said from ops. "I'm receiving a beam-out signal from the captain." 

Riker knew he must look like some sort of child's animation of relief as he sat up in his chair and brought a fist down on his own thigh. He didn't care. 

"Lock on to his signal and beam him aboard!" 

  
Jean-Luc sighed as the door to his cabin shut behind him. It was a week now since the Lenarian incident, a week since he'd been beamed aboard from the slave houses on the southern continent and then hustled into Sickbay while the Federation threatened the Lenarians with all manner of economic and military sanctions. The Lenarians had apologize profusely and claimed to have punished those involved. But Starfleet had met this show of contrition with uncharacteristic coolness, and the negotiations had been brought to a pause. The decision was made that Picard and the Enterprise crew simply had too much history with the Lenarians, and the ship was reassigned to an exploration of Sector 148-D, which included several uncharted class-M worlds. 

Picard had spent two days in Sickbay in near isolation. Beverly had easily diagnosed the cause of his body's depletion and had clinically explained the workings of the drug which had been used to keep him so long in a state of artificial arousal. Riker and Troi were also informed of his condition, as was Starfleet command in a coded message which would only be seen by those who needed to know. Otherwise, it was generally known that the captain had been treated harshly but not irreparably by the Lenarians and was soon fit for duty again. 

Troi insisted on a couple sessions, but when he told her no more than that sexual fantasies had allowed him to get through the worst of it, she simply nodded, reminded him that she was always available, and left him alone. 

Picard hadn't been worried about other possible consequences of his "fantasies" while he was in Sickbay, but his first night back in his cabin had been restless. The night had passed without incident, however, as had several since then. 

Picard walked to the replicator for tea, then got out his flute and practiced, enjoying it, as he always did, with such surprise. He did not know how much of his enjoyment was left-over pleasure from the probe and how much was simply his own life-long love of music. He did not much care anymore. His music was both for the Resikans and for himself. He could give them whatever credit they deserved. 

An hour or so reading in bed made his eyes pleasantly heavy, and he managed to put the book down on his nightstand before calling for the computer to dim the lights and pulling the covers over his shoulder as he rolled on his side. 

"Do you have any idea how cute you are?" 

Pleasant slumbers fled as Picard shot up to glare down at Q, who was reclining along his bed, head resting on his hand, the other arm draped over his hip in an overtly fetching pose. The thought flashed through Picard's mind that for once he was glad Q wore that uniform. It was easier to bear than seeing him naked. 

"Q!" he shouted just a fraction late. "What do you think you're doing?" 

"Nothing, evidently, you don't want me to do." Q reached a hand to Picard's hand where it gripped the comforter and trailed a light touch along the back of it. Jean-Luc jerked his hand away. Q chuckled and stretched out slightly. "Still playing coy?" 

"Q, whatever it is you want to discuss --" 

"I'm really not here to talk." 

"Then leave! I have neither the will nor the inclination to find the patience required to speak with you." 

"That isn't what you were thinking a few days ago." 

Picard felt his blood freeze, though dread had long been coiled in his stomach. "I don't know what --" 

A display padd flashed into Q's hand before he passed it to Picard. The man took it with numb fingers and looked down to see himself sprawled out on a bed covered with satin and velvet pillows, his wrists and ankles chained, Q bent between his legs, gently fucking him. 

Picard slammed the padd to the bed. "And what use do you intend to make of this? You must know your own powers would make it easy for me to deny any validity --" 

"Are you suggesting I would ever need to resort to blackmail, Picard?" 

The captain swallowed the rest his words, tasting their bitter desperation. "No...of course not." 

Q didn't respond, and seemed more than willing to spend the rest of the night lying there. But when Picard opened his mouth, Q did speak: 

"You know I would make it better for you than it's ever been." 

Again the man found himself swallowing words, but he was distracted from analyzing them when Q continued, his voice smooth, dark velvet: "You're always so controlled, so concerned for your partner. All those satisfied women who think so highly of you. The manuals you read as a lad, the care you took, such perfectly planned campaigns, and, back when you were such a little horn dog, so much practice. Practice makes perfect, and that's what you try to be for the women you care for: the perfect lover." 

"You're not going to have me believe that I should be displeased with my physical experiences," Picard said firmly, however shaky the ground had become. "I know you better than that." 

"So you do. I'm only commenting on why that happened." Q's eyes flicked to the padd, and suddenly Picard thought he might have misread this visit all together. "You know you couldn't get the better of me in bed. You know I know your body better than any Human ever could, and that my powers would allow me to bring you the pleasure you're always pushing off so you can make her come one more time." In one fluid movement, Q sat up to gaze across at him. "Jean-Luc, it's not just me you want, it's what I can do for you." 

But Picard found it easy to shake his head. "I don't want to be your experiment, Q. Nor am I interested in being the subject of a demonstration of either your sexual potency or expertise." 

"No, you just want me to make love with you until you pass out from pleasure." 

"I want you to leave me alone!" 

Q raised his eyes at the sudden volume of Jean-Luc's voice, and the captain tried to reign in his temper. There was no need to make Q's point for him. 

"It will feel really good," Q said softly. 

"What will?" 

"My cock inside you." 

Picard was going to fling the covers back and stomp from the room, but he was too angry. The words he had swallowed before now rose back up to choke him. 

"I am...not..." he managed to get out. 

"There's no need to be afraid," Q crooned so gently Picard almost couldn't hear him over the rush of his own blood. "I'm going to be so gentle. There will be nothing but pleasure." 

"Q. Stop --" 

"Do you realize in the morning you'll be a different person? For the first time in your life you're going to feel completely loved and sated and pampered and --" 

"Q, stop it!" 

"...fulfilled. You've got a body you don't even know the limits of yet, my dear Captain. You know how hard you can push it with pain and endurance, but no concept what sort of pleasure you can handle." 

"I'm not listening to this." 

"Oh, I promise I'm going to show you just what your body can do." 

"Enough!" 

"I'll tell you what, Jean-Luc," Q said with a trace of menace as he leaned towards the man, his eyes lazily trailing over the plunging neckline of Picard's pajamas. "I'll stop it. I'll never mention it again. If you push back the covers right now and show me you're not hard." 

Picard glared at Q. He couldn't do that, actually. 

"Come, come, Mon Capitaine. You were chained as a harem boy in a pleasure palace while the mistress' favorite slave sucked you off and you didn't get hard! Surely you're not aroused now, unless..." Q leered with delight. "...you want me so bad you can't stand it." 

Picard realized he wasn't getting out of this without some show of honesty. "Q, surely even you realize that it is part of the Human condition to want what we cannot have." 

"You're comparing me to the Tree of Knowledge, Jean-Luc?" 

"You are certainly 'forbidden fruit,' Q," Picard said, unaware of the special absurdity of his words that made Q hide a smile. "I'm Human enough to wonder what you would be like, certainly." 

Q laughed, loudly, throwing back his head and exposing his neck in a way that affected Picard's breathing. When he finally spoke again, his voice was pure mockery. "There's no 'certainly' about it. You've fought your attraction for me since...when? Shuttlecraft Six? Before then? Did you want me even when we were bickering over Riker?" 

"Q, this is --" 

"Just say 'yes,' Jean-Luc," Q cajoled, his eyes bright now, glittering danger. "Just say that one word, and I'll take if from there." 

"Whatever my libido wants, Q, the simple matter remains as it did before: I don't trust you." 

And then Q smiled quite differently. The sight of it made Picard's chest go tight. 

"You do, actually. When push came to shove, you did." 

"Explain." 

Q sighed, then sparkled. "Let's play a game." 

"I don't want to." 

"But you haven't even heard the rules yet. You get to ask me any question you like." 

Picard's eyes narrowed. "In return for?" 

"I get to tell you to do anything I like." 

Picard snorted. 

"No, no, Johnny. You don't understand. I'll tell you what I want first." 

Picard frowned. "You mean, you tell me to do something, and if I do it, I can ask you anything I like?" 

"That's right." 

"But will you answer?" 

Q pouted slightly. "Of course I will. Not much of a game otherwise, is it?" 

Picard thought a moment, but knew Q had found something he couldn't resist. At least asking Q about the nature of the Continuum would distract him from the pressure between his legs. He met Q's eyes, and nodded. 

"All right," Q said. "First thing: lay down on your back and stay there. I won't touch you, this round, anyway. 

Picard thought for a moment, then sighed and lay back. As long as Q didn't touch him....but then Q grabbed at the covers and whipped them off the bed, somehow managing it despite the fact that he'd been sitting on the covers himself. Picard grit his teeth and told himself Q already knew about his erection. 

"All right," he said quietly, "explain." 

Q looked fey. "That isn't really a question...but I'll answer it. You trusted me to save you from the Borg if you begged. You trusted me to keep my word about protecting Vash. You trusted me to keep my word about changing your life, and then about changing it back. You trusted me to help you save Earth from the temporal anomaly. You trusted me not to hurt you for imagining the two of us together." Q held up that display padd again so that Picard could see the images moving across it: all those positions in which he'd dreamed of taking and being taken by Q. "You must have known, somewhere inside you, that I knew what you were doing, and yet the thought of my hurting you for it never crossed your mind." 

"And what do you call this?" 

Q wagged a finger at him. "I'm going to forgive you for that, Jean-Luc, considering everything. We both know I'm not hurting you, just making you a bit...uncomfortable. As for what I would call it, you'll have to play the game again." 

Picard nodded. 

Q smiled. "Take your pajamas off." 

"I most certainly will not!" 

"Oh, give me a break! Do you think I haven't seen you naked hundreds of times already? I know what you look like naked better than anyone in the universe." 

Picard knew his face was flushed. "Then what's the point of it?" 

"The point is that's what you have to do to ask me another question." 

Jean-Luc knew he shouldn't, that this was ridiculous, that Q would only torment him for playing in his "game." But he couldn't withstand the temptation of being able to question Q. With a few very efficient movements, his pajamas had fallen to the floor. 

"What were the Continuum's original orders regarding your accosting of my ship?" 

Q was looking over Picard's body, his gaze lingering at the straining organ Picard was ignoring. The entity wondered if he should tell Picard he was relying on skills he'd recently developed under the Lenarians' care. 

"They told me to put Humanity back in its place. The trial was my idea, and when I returned to the Continuum with the announcement that you'd proven yourselves at least temporarily worthy of being left alone, they were none too pleased with me." 

Picard didn't want to believe him, and yet, it did explain why Q was so desperate to tempt Riker, and why the Continuum had tossed him out, afterwards. If Q had been disobedient at Farpoint...yes, that made sense. 

"More questions?" 

"Dozens," Picard responded without thinking. Q smiled in anticipation. 

"Then touch your nipples." 

"Q, what purpose can this possibly have except to humiliate --" 

"Is it really such a huge thing, Jean-Luc? Just touch them with your fingertips. Just that." 

Picard sighed and brought his hands up, desperately wondering what sort of point Q was making here. 

"Do you watch me often?" he asked. 

"Yes, though not constantly. Move your fingers around a bit, Picard, so that it feels good." 

"Is Amanda...all right?" Picard realized he was beginning to sweat. 

"She's fine. She's in the Continuum, and has been since she brought her parents back. Everyone is talking about compromises and she's being trained in the skills she needs. Spread your legs out and then back against your chest." 

"Is the Continuum going to continue...ohhh..." He waited for Q to make a remark, then cleared his throat and went on, "...going to continue to test Humanity and me and my crew?" 

"Yes, doubtlessly. Say, 'I want to be the King of Siam." 

"You're joking." 

Q looked at him, eyebrows raised. 

"'I want to be the King of Siam.' What sort of tests will they be?" 

"Everything you and your species does is a test in the Continnum's eyes. And now there are the Romulans and the Borg, to say nothing of the Dominion, we need do nothing at this point but watch. Say, 'Fuck me, Q, and never stop.'" 

"'Fuck me, Q, and never stop,' and what is the point of all this?!" 

Q snapped his fingers, his dark eyes intent, and with a small flash of light he was naked, though from Picard's angle on the bed the man could see him only from the waist up. He bent over Picard, almost touching. "You said you wanted me to fuck you. Your're hard and you've got your legs spread out and you're naked and rubbing your nipples. Don't you think that means I'm going to fuck you now?" 

Picard stared at him, realization creeping forward. "No, I don't." 

Q sighed and leaned back. "Game over, Mon Capitaine." 

Picard took his hands away from his chest, brought his legs down and slowly sat up. He couldn't keep his eyes from straying downward, but Q had curled his legs up. 

"Never again say you don't trust me, all right, Jean-Luc?" 

Picard sat there, hardly breathing. His hand came up, rubbed back along his scalp, then fell to his thigh. Had he been born with this erection? 

"One more question, Q?" 

"On the house?" 

"A bonus." 

Q looked at him, and Picard realized the entity's dark eyes were minutely reflecting the starlight in the window over Picard's shoulder. Jean-Luc held up the padd so that its images pointed at those eyes. 

"Do you want me as well, Q? Like this? Like I want you?" 

And with a rueful smile Q moved his legs down to reveal an impressive and glistening erection. "I've wanted you," he whispered, "since you first told me to get off your ship." 

Picard sighed at the tendril of warmth in his belly. "Fuck me, Q," he said very quietly. "And never stop." 

Q looked at him, and it seemed as if he were scorched by the simple gaze. Maintaining the contact, Picard lay back again until only the bed supported him, then spread his legs slightly as Q leaned forward, and then, finally, touched him, pressing their bodies together. Picard moaned softly as the pressure reached his groin, and it was all he could do not to thrust against Q's stomach. 

"Tell me," Q whispered now a bare inch from his lips, the breath caressing Jean-Luc's face, "everything you want. Tell me anything you want." 

"Yes," the man whispered back, shuddering. "That's what I want: everything. Anything. But first I want you inside me." 

_Like this?_ Q's voice asked in his head, caressing him inside, each word a small explosion of bliss, as though the vowels and consonants gently rubbed against his brain's pleasure centers. 

Picard groaned and writhed fanatically, instinct making him seek more. 

_Relax, Jean-Luc. You must relax and trust me._

The man nodded and tried to unclench his muscles. He wanted this so badly he was about to shake apart. It was somehow worse than the worst moment of the drug. 

_You look so good._ Warm lips pressed against his, and the pressure was perfect. The tip of a tongue teased him, and he opened his mouth slowly, allowing entrance, savoring the feel of Q moving inside to caress his tongue and the contours of his mouth. _You're perfect. I knew you would be perfect._

Hands -- large, warm, strong, gentle, Q's hands -- were moving over his skin, awakening the blaze of passion Q had promised. Picard did not need to be told to leave his own hands at his sides where they gripped the last sheet. The press of Q's body atop his was exquisite, the warmth of his tongue moving in and out of his mouth was the fuel for that blaze now moving deeper into his body, through each layer of skin, to his muscles, to his bones. 

"Hurry," he urged against Q's mouth. "I want you." 

_I've waited years. You can wait a few moments. I'm not going to hurt you. There's going to be nothing but pleasure, no matter what it takes._ And then Q was kissing his chest, finding his nipples and suckling gently, then a little harder, while Picard hissed and arched into it. Q's hands were finding all the special places along his torso, the unerring touch driving him mad. He found it was becoming harder and harder to relax, to keep himself from grabbing at Q. Finally, it was too much, and his fingers began to stroke along Q's back, seeking to give back some of the pleasure he received. 

Q pulled back slightly, though his fingertips tightly clamped the pink nubs of his lover's chest. 

_Can I restrain you, Jean-Luc? Do you trust me that much?_

Picard moaned, opened his eyes, met Q's. "No chains," he whispered, his eyes giving their own consent. 

_Of course not,_ Q reprimanded lightly. Picard felt the gentlest pressure upon his wrists and ankles, moving him into a comfortable spread-eagled position, holding him down without making him feel trapped. Q immediately moved over his exposed belly, licking him roughly, teasing his navel, chuckling with pleasure at the sounds the man made, the way his hips thrust up, and then he took his cock completely inside his mouth, rubbing the back of his throat against the tip. 

Picard screamed and arched almost completely off the bed. When the wave passed he was afraid of having hurt his partner, and shuddered in relief as Q's mental laughter washed through him. 

_You_ can't _hurt me, not right now. Later, when you're inside me, we'll worry about that, but right now, there's nothing to worry about. At this moment, you're not capable of hurting anything but my heart, and you're not going to, are you?_

"I love you," Picard groaned while Q's tongue worried his slit. 

_Hmmm. I didn't think you were going to. I love you too._

Those last words in particular felt incredible in Picard's mind, and with his cock down Q's throat and his whole body straining, he realized he was going to come and tried to warn his lover. Instead, he felt a fingertip brush between his buttocks, and simply came, very hard, and screaming Q's name. For a moment, things got somewhat dim. 

When he became fully aware again, he realized Q was still sucking on his cock, and that he was already starting to get hard once more. The moment was suddenly too much like his incarceration, and suddenly he couldn't stand being held down like this. He began to protest -- and then his arms and feet were loose. Q left him immediately and came up on the bed to wrap him in his arms. 

Picard shuddered and moaned and just held on, his eyes closed, for a long minute. And then he put his legs out again, unclasped Q's body, opened and spread his arms. 

"No," he whispered. "Don't stop." 

That gentle pressure returned to restrain him, but now Picard was relaxed as he had never been before. While his cock hardened and his testicles tightened under the fondling of Q's fingers, the rest of his body oozed into the bed. Q's skilled tongue milked precum (or was it postcum?) from him while his velvet thoughts filled his mind: 

_You're so beautiful. Your cock is perfect. Can you feel it fitting my mouth exactly?_

"Yes." 

A finger was teasing his anus again, and the pleasure that contact brought was almost frightening. As he never had before Picard appreciated the difficulty of allowing someone else to pleasure him. He wanted to shout at himself for doing nothing but taking. 

_But I want you to take from me. Take all I have, Jean-Luc. I have even more for you._

"You read my mind just then?" The thought wasn't unpleasant. Far from it. 

_Just_ think _the words, my love. I can hear you._

But Picard couldn't think, not when Q took him in deeply again just as a hot, slick finger plunged inside him. It was almost rough, but it didn't hurt. Indeed this was the opposite of pain. The finger moved in a rhythm, going deep, and Picard screamed again, trying to move against it, wanting more. 

_You like this?_

"God, yes. More, please." 

_Then ask me._

"More!" 

_No, ask me in your mind. Beg me with your pretty thoughts._

Picard's eyes rolled back with a frustrated groan. The finger inside him wasn't nearly enough, each small thrust a teasing suggestion of what could be. He tried to think of how to form the word "more" in his mind, but then he couldn't think of anything but Q's mouth on his nipples, Q's second finger sliding into his ass, Q's body against his. 

"So good," he breathed. "God. So good." 

_You're so beautiful, Jean-Luc, your body, your mind, the energy inside you. I'm going to be there with you, filling you with everything you want. Just say you want it._

"I want it!" 

_In your mind. Tell me in your mind._

Jean-Luc was sobbing now, thrashing as best he could with his wrists and ankles restrained, his legs pulled over Q's thighs, pushing down against Q's fingers, screaming when a third entered him. 

"Please, Q! Please!" He strained forward, trying to get Q to look into his eyes. The cock he wanted inside him was so close. He began to scream in sheer need. Q moved forward and smothered the noise with his lips. 

_Just think the words and I'll take you. Just tell me what you want._

Picard struggled, not wanting to break the kiss, not wanting any part of himself to lose contact with Q, but wanting so desperately to be entered he began to scream inside, somewhere, instinctively. 

_I love you, Jean-Luc. Don't you want me inside you?_

Picard's muffled scream intensified. Q's fingers clamped down hard on his nipple. 

_You're so perfect, my lovely Jean-Luc. My lovely lovely Jean-_

_FUCK ME ALREADY, DAMNIT!_

Q responded by sliding out his fingers and then replacing them with the head of his cock so smoothly Picard almost didn't realize what was going on. When he did, he groaned. 

_Let my legs go, please, love._

The restraints at his ankles vanished, and Picard pulled his legs back and apart, urging Q to go in deeper. His eyes opened, watching the care and concentration of Q's expression as his lover slid a little further inside. Then those dark eyes flicked up to meet his and the man forced himself not to hide his fear. 

_Don't be afraid, Jean-Luc._

_It's so much. You're so much. It feels too good._

_Focus on breathing and remember how much you trust me._

Picard nodded and tried to comply. His breaths were deep and rapid, but he found he could control their rhythm. Thoughts of his trust for Q seemed more reluctant at first, especially as the rising pleasure of Q's cock rocking gently in and out of his body, going in deeper each time, wanted to block out all that he was. But then he saw himself on this bed, his arms spread, his legs spread, his body arching into the thrusts of Q's cock, and the truth of his trust in Q filled him and steadied him, preparing him for more. 

As Picard moved against him now, Q's thrusts became long and gliding and deep. Over and over the pressure rose and fell, the slap of flesh to flesh, the rhythm of their breaths and moans and gasps, the crescendo of sensation going higher than Picard (or Q, actually) had ever known, and the man realized faintly what Q had meant about his body's limits. 

_Is this what you wanted?_

_Yes, Q._

_Then tell me._

_Yes, Q. Yes, Q. Oh_ God yes, Q... 

And then even his thoughts became part of the rhythm, and the final climax gathered what was left of them both, pushing them beyond music into a sort of formless harmony of pure spirit, pure being, and pure bliss. When oblivion came, they welcomed what they knew would be only a brief respite, trusting even the darkness they had made to enter and fill them, keeping them safe until they would awaken, doubtlessly to join again. 

THE END


End file.
